A Bushel of Tomatoes
by Epic F. Awesomesauce
Summary: Just drabbles of Spamano, my otp. They will include AUs, partial Nyotalia, complete Nyotalia, and other random shit.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Bebe**

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"Roma, Veneziano says he wants us to come over and see his and Germany's new baby~!"

"Shuddafugup," I mumble, curling under the sheets and shoving my head under the pillow. There is no way in hell I'm getting up now. It's far too early. The sun is actually shining. Stupid asshole.

"Aaw, c'mon, Roma, it's gonna be so cute~!"

"Don' fuckin' care. Babies are stupid."

Spain gives a horrified gasp. "But Roma, babies are so cuuuute! I remember when you were a baby- well, not a baby, but a little kid, and you were so cute~!"

I lift my head off of the bed to glare at Spain, feeling a stupid blush settle over my cheeks. "Sh-shut up, I was not cute!"

"Sure you were~!" he insists. "And you're cute now too, so get up so that you can look even cuter while holding the baby!"

I duck my head back under the pillows. "Oh hell no, I'm not holding the damn thing! What if I break it?"

He leans down and begins placing kisses on all of my exposed skin, because he knows I'll make him stop eventually. "You won't break it. You're not that bad with kids."

"You don't even know, stupid," I mutter as he places a kiss on my shoulder. I lift up and arm and wave it through the air around him. "Stop fucking kissing me!"

He leans down to kiss me on the back of my neck, grinning against my skin. I shiver at the feeling of his warm breath, not having realized I wasn't nearly as warm as I could be.

"I'll stop kissing you if you get up!" he says cheerfully, kissing behind my ear. I sit up, glaring at him, then wrap the blankets around my shoulders, yawning loudly.

"I don't wanna gooooo," I whine.

"I'll carry you to the kitchen if you don't walk, mi corazon,"

"You wouldn't," I hiss.

"I will~!" he says cheerfully. "Oh, too slow, looks like I'll have to carry you!" He leans forward to grab me, but I duck his arms, managing to fall off the bed in the process.

"D-don't even try it- Get away, stupid fucker!" I hop to my feet, then throw the blankets at him and run from the room while he's blinded.

"That was below the belt!" he calls cheerily after me.

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AYE**LUV**YOU

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A couple hours later, Spain and I are stationed in Feliciano's living room. The potato bastard is sitting with us while Feli fusses around in the kitchen. Spain is sitting next to me, holding the baby (it's a girl) and cooing affectionately at it. It just keeps giving him this look like, "Ugh, get the fuck outta my face bitch," and I'm starting to get embarrassed for my stupid boyfriend.

Feli finally comes in, sitting on the armrest of Germany's chair like some sort of dumbass.

"She's so cute, Vene!" Spain says happily. "What's her name again?"

"Well, we haven't decided, but I was thinking Stella's kind of cute!"

"Or Kamilla," Germany says, looking with vague potato fondness at the baby.

"Those are both really cute!" Spain says. "Oh, look at her, she thinks I'm a stupid head!"

"You're not a stupid head, you're a dumbass," I correct instinctively.

"Yeah, but she says I'm a stupid head," he tells me. "Just look at her. Look at her eyes. They say that I'm a stupid head."

I look into her eyes, which are brown and totally not impressed. "She thinks you're a glorified asshat." I tell him knowledgeably.

He pouts. "Well, if you know her so well, why don't you hold her?"

I scoot to the other side of the couch. "Uh-uh, no way, I am not holding her."

"Awww, come on, fratello, she wants her zio to hold her!"

I shake my head. "No, no, no. I'm not holding her."

And then Spain leans forward and casually plops her into my arms. Instantly, I freeze, not wanting to move and accidentally kill her or something. I can feel everyone in the room watching me, waiting to see what will happen, and it's super uncomfortable. I mean, if I break the baby, I don't want to break her with everyone watching!

"...You can loosen up a bit, you know," Spain says after a while. "You don't have to be so..." He waves his arms randomly through the air, then leans over and makes me cradle my arms around her more.

"You have to support her neck!" Feli chimes in. "She's just a little baby, she can't hold it up yet."

"And don't hold her so far down your lap," Germany instructs bossily. "Bring her closer to your body."

"There, look, you're almost doing it!" Spain says happily once I've done all the things they advised.

"Sh-shut up, asshole," I mutter, feeling my face turn red.

"Don't swear by the baby, Roma, or else the first word she's ever going to learn will be something like 'fuckwit' and then she'll just go around calling everyone fuckwit, and-"

"Fine, fine, I won't swear around her!" I glare at him, then jump violently as I feel something on my arm. It's the baby, grabbing at my shirtsleeve and pulling it into her mouth.

"Aaaw, look at her, she's eating you!" Feli says, giggling.

"Hey, stop that!" I tell the baby. "Don't eat my shirt, that was expensive!" Well, not expensive. Ten bucks or so, but still.

She ignores me, focusing purely on my shirt, her brown eyes wide and innocent. She goos a bit, and then shoves a whole baby fistful of my shirt into her mouth, getting it soaked through with baby spit before pulling it out and gooing again.

"She's meditating," Feliciano said in an awed whisper.

"Wh-what the fu- shi- um... crap? What do you mean she's meditating?"

"Babies have deep thoughts, Roma. She's telling you all about it. She's probably remembering the womb or something," Spain says, like he knows what he's talking about.

"Yeah right, she's not fu- frickin' meditating. She probably doesn't even remember the womb! You guys are fuck- frickin' wierd."

"She likes you," Germany says. "Maybe you should name her. Feliciano and I can't decide on anything."

I look up, startled. "What?! Oh hell no, you're not shoving this naming business onto me! Name your kid your own da- darn self!"

Spain chuckles, and I turn to glare at him. "What?" I ask sulkily.

"It's funny to see you try to censor yourself~"

I feel my face go red, and I stammer out, "Sh-shut up, stupid. If I weren't holding an innocent child I'd kill you."

"Okay, well, how about this," Feli says, changing the subject. "What if you think of a name for her and then we'll put it in our name list?"

I shrug, feeling vaguely honored. After all, this is the name the little baby will be stuck with for the rest of her life, and I might be able to choose it?

"Um... uuuum... um... C-Clarissa?" I half-ask.

There's a small silence in which I practically sweat all the water out of my body, and then Feliciano claps his hands together excitedly and says, "I like it! There's so much room for nicknames! Like Clare, or Clary, or Issa, or Izzy, or... well, I think that might be all. But I like it!"

"Can her middle name be Kamilla?" Germany asks, because apparently they've both already fucking decided that that's what her name will be.

"Whoa whoa, hold up, you can't just name her Clarissa!" I say. "You said you would put it on the list!"

Feli shrugs. "Yeah, but the list is just Stella and Kamilla, and we both like Clarissa."

"How do you even know that? You didn't even talk about it!"

"We just know," said Feli, which is somehow the gayest thing I've ever heard, like he thinks that they can read each other's minds or something. Oh my god, can they? Aaaaaagh, no, that's weird!

"Well... okay, if you're sure you wanna just... name her Clarissa..."

"We are," says Feliciano firmly.

_"Gooo..."_ goes the baby.

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**A/N Soooooo... Drabbles. I like them now. Yep. Spamano. That's it.**

**Thumbs up for no editing.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Swears**

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"Dammit!" said Spain, looking into the empty fridge. Romano jerked his head up from his book, looking at Spain with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"What did you just say?"

"There's nothing in the fridge!" Spain said, closing the door and sighing. "Fuck, I guess we'll have to go shopping.

Romano slammed his book shut. "There! You did it again!"

Spain cocked his head to the side, looking confused. "Did what?"

"You...! You...!" Romano's face turned red. "...Nevermind. I must have just misheard you." He opened his book again and searched for his page, muttering all the while under his breath.

"Well shit. Want to come to the store with-"

Romano jumped from his feet, book flying. "STOP SAYING THAT."

"What the hell am I sayi-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Romano turned and ran from the room. Spain watched him go, a wide grin spreading across his face. Haha... His get-Romano-to-stop-swearing plan was working perfectly!

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**A/N These drabbles won't be long, by the way. And there might be more of this one...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Dat Ass**

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If someone asked Romano what he loved most about Spain, he could say any number of things.

He could say it was the way Spain woke him up with kisses every morning, or the way he cuddled him to sleep every night, or the way they always took an afternoon siesta together on the couch.

He could say it was the way Spain would go out every morning and pick tomatoes. His garden was a lot smaller than it had been when Romano was a kid, but it was still big, and Spain still treated it with the same care he had always done, singing softly to the plants, naming them, carefully weeding them every morning to make sure they weren't killed.

He could say it was the way Spain sneaked up on him sometimes, grabbing him from behind and swinging him around in circles, even if he was holding a wooden spoon covered in tomato sauce (which had happened multiple times).

He could say it was the way Spain tucked him into bed when he was sick, pushing the blankets underneath him so that he was all swaddled up and warm and peaceful and happy.

He could say that it was all the happy memories he had of Spain from his childhood, like the time he had insisted for a full three weeks that squirrels kept wetting his bed, even though he knew that it was himself.

He could say a lot of thing about Spain: How his smile was as bright as the sun, or his eyes were as green as the sun shining on a leaf that was bright with summer, how he had a stupid dimple in his left cheek or how his skin was tan and smooth or how he was strong and warm and basically perfect in every way possible.

But, if someone ever asked Romano what his favorite thing about Spain was... He would always, ALWAYS say...

"_Dat ass_."

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**A/N I could literally go on and on about how perfect Spain is, by the way. XD**

**Oh yeah, so I've been sitting here all day, wondering where all the alerts I usually get are, and apparently they aren't working for me because I've gotten a ton of stuff on some of my fics and do I get alerted by any of it? NO! Fucking piece of shit.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Gibraltar**

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"I want to get a cat."

"No. We're not getting a cat."

"Well, that's too bad, because I already got one."

Romano slammed his book down on the table. "WHAT?! Spain, I fucking told you I don't want a fucking ca- Oh."

Spain was holding out a little kitten that fit easily in the palm of his hand. It was a light gray that was almost white, and it had cute little green eyes. It looked up at Romano and mewed gently.

"Look at how cute it is..." Spain said, poking his lower lip out and giving Romano a puppy-dog look.

"Spain," Romano said, looking up from the cat. "You'd better not have more of these stashed somewhere."

Spain shook his head vehemently. "No, I only got one."

"For free?"

"For free."

"Because you know we're short on money."

"I know."

"We've practically been living off of tomatoes from your garden."

"They're delicious."

Romano sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine, I guess we can keep it, but it had better fucking like tomatoes!"

Spain cheered, lifting the cat up into the air like it was a trophy. "YES! YES! WE GET TO KEEP IT! YES! I'M SO HAPPY. YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES."

"Let's name it."

Spain nodded. "I think we should name it Tomato."

Romano stared at him, unimpressed. "That's the stupidest name for a gray cat that I've ever heard."

"What would you name it then?" Spain pouted, clutching the kitten to his chest.

"Not fucking Tomato, that's for sure!"

"Then what?" Spain said, bitchface in place.

Romano glared at him. "GIBRALTAR, THAT'S WHAT."

Spain gasped, horrified. "You wouldn't!"

"HELL YES I WOULD, BITCH. CAT, I HEREBY DEEM YOU GIBRALTAR. DEAL WITH IT, SPAIN."

And with that, the kitten was named Gibraltar.

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**A/N I not sure I mentioned this but these things are fucking stupid and I would apologize but fuck I don't care.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Fights**

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Sometimes Spain and Romano staged fake fights around their friends to reassure them that they weren't completely happy with each other.

This was one of those times.

"I DON'T WANT TO GET YOUR DAMN WATER."

"JUST GET ME SOME WATER."

"NO. GET YOUR OWN WATER, FUCKER."

"I DON'T WANT TO. YOU'RE GETTING UP ANYWAY."

"NOT ANYMORE, I'M NOT. WHILE YOU'RE UP, GET ME SOME WATER."

Spain stood up and glared down at Romano. "Fine," he said tightly, leaving the table. Instantly, Romano replayed the scene in his head. Was it beleivable? Did France and Prussia now think that they were like normal people, who fought and hated each other?

He nodded, smiling triumphantly to himself. It seemed like a pretty good fight to him.

Of course, he didn't notice that, across the table, France and Prussia were sharing a look that said, _These two are fucking idiots if they think that we think that they were really fighting._

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**A/N This is so stupid and like... Wut.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Guilt-Trip**

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"Romano, come pick tomatoes with me~!"

"No."

"Aww, c'mon, Romaaaaa!"

"No."

"...Pleeeeeeease?"

"No."

"Hmph. Well, someone's no fun."

Romano set down his magazine and pulled his sunglasses down his nose. "Was that supposed to convince me to pick tomatoes? Because it's not going to work."

Spain pouted, then shoved his straw hat hard onto his head. "Fine, I'll pick tomatoes by myself and I'll eat them by myself!"

"You do that," said Romano calmly, who of course knew that Spain didn't mean a word that he said. Spain's number one rule (besides the rule that you always had to kiss Romano always) was that sharing is caring, and he cared about Romano pretty much more than he cared about anyone else. Romano knew without a doubt that he would share tomatoes.

(Especially if Romano gave him the Smolder, but he wasn't about to go into the details of that.)

Spain walked into the feild and picked tomatoes, pouting and muttering to his tomatoes all the while. As the day grew warmer and warmer and Spain's tomato picking grew slower and slower, though, Romano started to worry. Spain usually kept a pretty steady pace when picking tomatoes, but now he was going slower and wiping his forehead as if he was too hot. WHAT IF HE WAS SICK?! WHAT IF HE DIED?!

Romano jumped up from his seat, throwing aside his sunglasses and magazine. "FINE, I'LL HELP YOU PICK TOMATOES, YOU ASSHOLE."

In the field, Spain grinned. Heh. Guilt-tripping worked _every. Time_.

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**A/N So... Yeah. Pffh. Why SHOULDN'T Spain guilt-trip Romano, eh?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Sometimes**

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Sometimes, when Spain was doing paperwork (which he had to do occasionally) and Romano had piled all his own paperwork on Veneziano (which might have been the reason Italy was in such a bad position anyway, since Vene just ignored it or passed it off to Germany), Romano liked to rearrange Spain's bedroom.

He supposed that some people might say it was both their bedrooms, since that was generally where Romano slept, but Romano didn't think that. He considered the bedroom he had stayed in as a kid his bedroom.

But anyway, while Spain was in his office downstairs, Romano would sneak into his boyfriend's room and move things. He didn't do anything drastic, though. He would move every single item five inches to the right- the direction away from the door -and then watch as Spain fell over as he tried to sit down on the bed or something.

He would also randomly move some of Spain's shirts to the other side of the wardrobe so that Spain, when he was looking for something to wear, would grab some nice button-down t-shirt instead of a ratty old t-shirt with the name of some weird band on it.

Sometimes, when Spain took a particularly long time, Romano would rearrange things in the bathroom too, switching the little shelves where Spain's shampoo was and his shampoo were, or replacing Spain's regular bar soap with something lavender-scented. He would also switch the spots for the handsoap and the lotion, so that Spain would use the lotion and then get really confused, which was always funny.

On those nights, Romano would wait patiently on the bed, smirking as Spain tried to find his pajama dress-shirt-thing he always wore to bed. He would wake up early in the morning just to hear Spain be confused when he used the wrong shampoo.

Of course, Spain would never figure it out, no matter how many times Romano did it. Or maybe, thought Romano as he watched Spain crash into a recently moved lamp, he did it on purpose just to make Romano feel all clever and devious.

Either way, thought Romano as Spain finally just threw himself into bed, it was a good situation.


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